


Do What You Want (with my body)

by Pluppelina



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (to the best of my understanding of the concept), Body Dysphoria, M/M, Oral Sex, PIV Sex, Rated to be Safe, Trans Character, Whipping, amputee Sebastian Moran, submissive sebastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2137041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pluppelina/pseuds/Pluppelina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long time since Sebastian felt intact. The war certainly didn't help, and he's got no illusions that Jim Moriarty will, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do What You Want (with my body)

Sebastian remembers running, taking too-deep breaths of the warm, warm air. He remembers taking them too fast, so quickly they stuck in his throat on the way down. He ran, as fast as he could over the sand, trying to escape the car coming up behind them... when the man in front of him suddenly seemed to disappear. A blink later, Sebastian was knocked off his feet, staring up at the sky and the remnants of his comrade raining down over him. He remembers lying there, ears ringing, unable to make the connection between cause and effect… Remembers looking down to see that most of his left foot was gone. That, below the ankle, there was all but nothing. He remembers screaming.

*

Sebastian wakes up screaming, cold sweat running down his back. It’s been five days since he last woke up unable to catch his breath, and before that, it had been three. It’s not every night any more. He wishes that it was never. At least now, no one comes rushing to his aid. That’s one of the few things he actually likes about Jim Moriarty; he doesn’t come rushing to help you, not with anything. In the empire, it’s every man for himself, no matter the shape that man might take on. Sebastian is almost grateful for that, but then he gets angry, instead, and going back to sleep is out of the question. He needs to move. He doesn’t meet anyone on his way out.

*

Sebastian runs, working the treadmill beneath him hard. He prefers it to running outside, because it gives no false promises; he isn’t getting away from anything, just working himself ragged on the same few square feet of ground. It wouldn’t matter if he was running all the way back to Afghanistan, he’d never be able to truly escape… But at least it gives him the feeling that his body is good for something. 

In the shower, afterwards, he doesn’t remove the prosthesis, and he doesn’t look down. His whole body is numb, and if he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that his leg is, too. That that’s really all there is to it. 

*

They’re on the sofa together, both of them reading - Jim on his tablet, Sebastian in a book - when Jim’s foot glides, slowly, to touch Sebastian’s thigh. He watches as it moves downwards, very purposefully, until it stops touching flesh and reaches plastic. Sebastian’s heart races as he looks up, meeting Jim’s eye.

“What happened?” he asks, and Sebastian only shakes his head no. He doesn’t talk about it, and he doesn’t think about it; it’s a failure too big to handle. When he can lose himself in a book about someone whose biggest problem is that he isn’t getting it on with the girl he’s pining after, Sebastian can almost manage to ignore it entirely. Jim, of course, clicks his tongue in obvious disapproval… but lets it go.

“I can help you feel better, you know,” Jim offers, foot moving back upwards again, and Sebastian’s breath catches in his throat. 

 

*

He thinks about all the times, in his youth, when he didn’t pass. He thinks about his shitty, dangerous binders, and about the unbelievable pain of the mastectomy. He remembers how all of his savings, every single penny of them, went right to his hysterectomy. He remembers how pleased he’d been afterwards, how easy life had seemed… For about five minutes, because then he’d been out of money, and he’d only been the smallest of steps closer to what he wanted his body to become. 

Decades on testosterone and of building up muscle mass have helped him come even closer, and yet, he lies awake that night, trying to puzzle out if he still has a tell. If people can still look at him and know that he doesn’t have a cock between his legs. If his hands are too small, if his hips are too wide, if his packing is less than ideal, if Jim has seen the faded scars on his chest and worked out the rest for himself.

If Jim knows, or if Jim expects to coax some well-being out of Sebastian by riding his cock. If the risk that Jim thinks he’s something different is one he’s willing to take. 

*

There might not be a lot to like about Jim Moriarty, but there are quite a few things about him that are enticing. The way his eyes burn when he knows what he wants and he’s going for it; the mad, gleeful laughter that forces its way out of him at the most unexpected of times; the silence they sometimes share, like it’s no big deal. With a lot of hard work, Sebastian has come to trust his boss. Quite by accident, he’s come to want him, too. 

“That offer you made me,” he says, facing down into his plate of take-away. Jim, across the table, just takes another drag from his cigarette as though he hasn’t heard anything. Sebastian clears his throat. “As long as I can keep my trousers on, I’m willing to let you try.” 

Jim blows smoke in his face with a big, spectacular smile.

“Of course, Tiger. Of course.” 

*

The whip hits home and Sebastian jerks in his bonds, glad for the cuffs that attach his body to the bed. Glad that he can't get away, even if he struggles. There's another lash and he jerks again, his mind, this time, jerking with him. He takes a sharp breath in at the sensation, and behind him, Jim coos, “There you go, darling. Isn’t it nice?”

Sebastian hadn’t expected it to be nice. He’s never actually been whipped before, but he’s been no stranger to corporal punishment. Nice was the last thing he would’ve called it… But it’s never hurt like this before. It’s never been enough to literally drive him out of his mind. 

“More,” he says, voice strained. “Please.” 

Jim gives him more, and this time, he doesn’t stop. Sebastian pulls on his cuffs, and after a certain point, he’s not even sure if he’s doing it to escape or to have more. He only _wants_ , wants for his mind to keep moving further away from the body. There're no chains holding that part of him still; it's allowed to stray, bit by bit, as Jim strikes him again and again. Each lash makes him feel more as though he doesn't actually have to live out his whole life inside his worthless piece of shit body. As though there's actually another way to escape, except for the death he's spent all of his life chasing.

He feels blood trickle down his back by the time Jim is done with him, but he doesn’t feel much else. The pain is distant, as though it’s happened to someone else, and his mind… His mind is flying. He’s not attached to anything any longer; he’s free to roam as he wishes. Free to leave everything behind and pretend nothing bad has ever happened to him. He’s never felt so good in his life, and when Jim comes to clean him up, to undress him, Sebastian doesn’t mind. If Jim knew that hurting his body this badly would make him feel so good, then Jim can do whatever he’d like with it. Always. 

*

It’s barely a week later that they kiss for the first time. It’s not new to Sebastian, but it’s old enough that it might as well have been. He’s rusty, but Jim is possessive and takes charge, allowing Sebastian the comfort of simply following along. It hasn’t felt good to give in to anyone before, but the whipping has left him different. Meeker. It’s a welcome change to the rage that’s always burned inside of him before, and he knows who he owes it to, so when Jim guides him to his knees, he’s glad to go. He’s glad to give a little something back. 

*

It’s different between them, after. Sebastian doesn’t always wear trousers around the flat any more, and sometimes, Jim cooks him dinner. Some nights, they share a bed, and on some of those nights, Sebastian begs Jim to use him for pleasure again. It takes more reluctance before Sebastian agrees to let Jim return the favour - but once they’ve tried it, he’s glad that he did. It’s the polar opposite of the whipping; allowing his body to experience pleasure, and sucking his mind back down into it in a very alarming way. Sebastian isn’t sure he likes it, but Jim pets his hair afterwards and tells him that he did well, so that’s something.

Even after the initial daze has worn off for him, the harsh reality seems easier. Sometimes, Sebastian lies awake at night and worries that he’s missed something, that there’s a big threat out there he’s neglecting to address. Other nights, he just rolls over, and holds Jim close.

*

Jim leans down and kisses the place where Sebastian’s leg ends, lips resting just below the knee. They’re naked, they’re lounging, and Sebastian is just moments after orgasm. Jim hasn’t finished yet.

"What happened?" he murmurs, lips still against skin. If this was anyone but Jim, Sebastian would kick him away. If this was any time but just after oral sex, he might’ve done it, anyway. Jim’s lips there feel more intimate than they did wrapped around his clitoris. 

"A land mine," Sebastian replies, voice rougher than it is normally, trying to hide the wave of emotion it always brings up to talk about it; the memory that flashes before his open eyes. Sand. Blood. His boot, blown to pieces, spread out across the desert. The nurses, afterwards, telling him how lucky he was to be alive. Thinking, in his hospital bed, that his already worthless body wouldn’t even be able to run any more.

Even now, back home, he can’t help but think that he was already missing enough important pieces. They hadn’t had to take another one. They should’ve let the rot spread. They should’ve let him die. 

In between his legs, Jim starts kissing his way up Sebastian’s thigh once more. This time, Sebastian is just too numb to kick him away. Seeming to sense this, Jim pauses to make eye contact.

“Do you want the whip again?”

This time, it’s another memory that sets off. Sebastian wants it, wants it badly, but then his father’s disappointed eyes flash before him, the exact way they looked when he said, “You’ll be trying your luck in the military, son.” The exact way they looked when he said, “Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll be invalided home before you can embarrass yourself too badly.”

Sebastian shakes his head no. No, he can’t. It’s not worth it. 

With an easy shrug, Jim returns to his gentle touches. The last thing Sebastian wants right now is to be reminded yet again that he doesn’t have a cock for Jim to suck. For once in his life, Jim seems to care about the tension he’s picking up on, and makes another move instead. Two of Jim’s fingers go up inside Sebastian’s slick hole, the hole he doesn’t want, and soon enough, Jim’s cock replaces them. 

Normally, he gets off on being fucked by Jim, but it’s good in a different way this time. It’s like the pieces inside of him don’t quite fit together any more, as though his inner tectonic plates are shifting, grinding uncomfortably up against each other in some places, leaving deep cavities in others. Thinking too much about it, about the state of himself, alway upsets Sebastian’s insides. He doesn’t want to think about that, though, so he doesn’t.

Instead, he closes his eyes, wraps his arms around his lover, and loses himself in the feeling of being fucked. It’s like Jim is filling up those cavities and smoothing down those bumps with his smooth motions, in and out, back and forth, until Sebastian almost feels as though he’s got it together again and Jim comes inside him, comes inside him safely, because he’s missing some parts he’d desperately wanted to be rid of, too. 

Moments pass. Jim pulls out, goes to wash up, and Sebastian rolls over on his side. Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly, his pulse goes back to normal, and Jim’s come leaks out of him, ending up in a puddle on his inner thigh. He closes his eyes. Before long, Jim’s arm wraps around his waist, pulling the covers up with it. 

"Just sleep," he murmurs, kissing Sebastian’s neck. "Sleep, darling. Sleep." 

With Jim there, it doesn’t seem like such an impossible task to do so. With Jim there, it almost seems as though Sebastian’s got a shot at a decent life. The only trouble is, he can’t help but wonder which body part he’s going to have to give up to pay for it.


End file.
